


Horn Balm

by KitsuHime



Series: Stone Dreams [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftercare, Aversion to Romance, Budding Love, F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 15:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20677811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitsuHime/pseuds/KitsuHime
Summary: Morgan might be shorter than Iron Bull, but she knows that his arms have to get tired tending to his horns for that long. And anyways, she's sure that she can help.





	Horn Balm

**Author's Note:**

> I'M NOT DEAD! So, here's some Bull/Morgan for everyone. Sorry I've been inactive lately. I'm slowly looking getting back into writing again. Enjoy, and please leave a comment!

“I could help, you know,” Morgan mumbled, turning her head on the pillow.

Bull was sitting at the desk he’d somehow managed to get the quartermaster to provide. It was of a decent size, but still on the small side for him. He had his horn balm open on the desk; the accompanying stiff-bristled brush laid out next to it. He turned his head to look at her.

Morgan was still laid out in his bed, the sheet tangled around her legs. The lamplight was enough to show the wide, red welts striped over her backside, the edges of some already starting to darken and bruise. Bull felt a residual pang of satisfaction at the sight, and at the touch of hoarseness to her voice. It had been a good night.

“You should be resting,” he said, turning back to the desk.

Morgan made a face, groaning softly before she sat up. He heard her hissing intake of breath as she put weight on her backside, and smirked to himself. She’d be feeling those for a while. Just like she’d asked. He heard her pad softly across the floor in bare feet, and then the warmth of her body against his naked back as she put her arms over his shoulders and her face in his neck.

“Let me help,” she mumbled again. “You can stay here and I’ll use the stool.” As much as her ass was stinging, the rest of her body felt loose and relaxed. “Your arms have to get really tired being up in the air so long.”

Bull made a vague sound. It was hard to think clearly with her breasts pressed into his back and her breath fanning his neck. She had left several marks of her own, and was currently nibbling the edge of one. “You’re a menace,” he finally grumbled, leaning his head to the side to allow her better access. “You don’t even know what you’re doing…”

Morgan just hummed happily. “You can teach me.” She hooked her foot around the leg of the stool, dragging it over behind Bull’s chair. He felt her stand, her hands reaching around him as her chin rested on the top of his head. “You know I’m a quick study.”

She wasn’t wrong, either. Applying the balm himself _did_ tire his arms, and once she was shown what to do, Morgan usually caught on quickly with whatever task she’d been assigned. He looked at her hands as they reached vainly for the pot of horn balm and his brush. He caught the one with the scarred pinky and lifted it to kiss her knuckles. He felt her shiver slightly, humming as she leaned into his back.

“Please?”

Relenting, Bull handed her the brush. “Fine. Gotta scrape off the dead stuff first, starting from the base. Don’t worry about being gentle.”

Morgan smirked behind him. “Well, you certainly never to.”

Bull snorted a laugh, feeling the light sensation of her fingers brushing the skin at the base of one horn. “You don’t usually complain until afterward,” he replied. “Seem pretty happy with my work during, though.”

Morgan didn’t bother holding in her giggle, tweaking the tip of his ear slightly before she started. She had seen him do this a few times, and started with the firm, circular strokes that she remembered. She felt Bull lean back into the touch slightly, and a hum of contentment rumbled in his chest. If she was a betting woman, she’d have placed good money on his eyes being closed.

The stiff brush was perfect for the job, sloughing off dead skin and loose flakes of keratin. She knew that Bull didn’t have much feeling in his horns, but that there was a bone core to them, and a broken horn hurt like a bitch. At least according to Asala. She braced her other hand on his shoulder, working slowly. It worked her muscles differently from smithing or archery, but it wasn’t more than she could handle.

It _was_ nice to have someone else do all the work on his horns, Bull had to admit. And Morgan wasn’t nice about it, either. To keep from moving too much, he had to set his neck and shoulder muscles as he would have if he had been doing it himself. His eyes closed again as she worked her way out, her body still warm against his back.

Morgan could feel his muscles tense slightly under her other hand, but his posture was still relaxed. He let out another sound, longer and drawn out as a sigh. Warmth that had nothing to do with nakedness bloomed in Morgan’s chest. There had been more of this lately; physical intimacy without sex. She had expressed quite clearly that she wasn’t looking for anything romantic, and Bull had seemed more than satisfied with that.

But now they found themselves lingering for longer and longer periods of time after it was over, just laying naked together and talking. Or Bull playing with Morgan’s hair as she read a book or worked on her crochet. It wasn’t awkward, either. It was… comfortable. More than that, Morgan found herself looking forward to it almost as much as the fucking.

This was another example. She was far too tired and sore for another round, but still hadn’t bothered with clothes. And as much as she knew Bull appreciated the press of her naked body, and as much as she loved the feel of his skin against hers, there was no layer of anticipation for something more. They were just there, together.

Morgan found her thoughts continuing inward as she reached the middle of his horn. She _liked_ these moments. She liked them a lot. But it was enough like an actual ‘relationship’ that it made her leery. She wasn’t foolish enough to think herself incapable of romantic attraction any more, for all the pain it had caused her in the past. But it was also impossible to just tell Bull to leave afterwards, or pull on her clothes and sneak back to her own rooms when things were done. It didn’t matter how much she told herself that she needed the distance, that she needed to draw the line somewhere.

If she lingered, or let him stay, it meant a few more moments where she didn’t have to be the Inquisitor or the Herald; she could just be Morgan. She wondered if Bull felt the same, if their time together let him have a break from his role as Ben-Hassrath. She knew he wouldn’t complain if she asked him to leave. But he also seemed to enjoy when she pulled him back to bed and wrapped her tired limbs around him.

Morgan shook her head in an effort to dislodge the thoughts. “Done,” she said, rotating her shoulder. “How’s that?”

Bull reached up and felt along the horn. “That’s fine,” he said. “Go ahead with the other one.”

As she started up again, Bull wished, not for the first time, that he had a mirror. Morgan had a lovely full-length one in her room, and they’d had plenty of fun with it. As nice as she felt against his back, he found himself missing the ability to watch her face. She was so open with her expressions when they were alone like this.

“Hang on a minute,” he said. Morgan stepped back and off the stool as he stood. He turned his chair and adjusted the stool so that she could stand in front of him this time. He gestured her back. “C’mere.”

Morgan smiled, making a play at looking suspicious. “_That_ would put you in the perfect position to _distract_ me, good sir,” she pointed out.

Bull huffed, then leaned to the side to pluck up her night shirt from where it had landed on the dresser. “Here, to preserve your modesty, my lady,” he said with an air befitting the stuffiest Orlesian footman, making Morgan snort and roll her eyes.

He held the brush while she put the shirt on, rolling the sleeves up to her elbows and only doing up enough buttons to hold the shirt closed. And as lovely as her pale, hickey-marked chest was, Bull did nothing more than put his hands on her hips to steady her as she stepped back up onto the stool. He smiled as he looked up at her, her brows furrowed in concentration. She never gave anything but her all, no matter how small or unimportant others might consider the task.

Morgan could feel his lingering gaze, and caught his soft smile out of the corner of her eye. It was hard not to smile back. When his eyes closed again, she felt her own little bloom of satisfaction. She _liked_ being able to help Bull. He did so much for her, and she always felt slightly frustrated when he gently rebuffed her efforts to do the same. But there’d been less of that lately.

The second horn seemed to take longer, the trained muscles in her arm and shoulder unused to this particular motion. But the relaxed look on Bull’s face was more than worth it. He was so rarely able to _really _kick back, to properly let go and relax. He was always looking out for her, always searching the crowd or the trees for a possible threat.

Her hand reached for him without any conscious thought, tracing one of the scars on the side of his face. His eyelids fluttered, but didn’t open. She wanted to kiss him, she realized. Not because she wanted him, but just to feel the comforting touch of his lips, to try to show him how much his support meant to her. But her chest went tight; she didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. 

And yet her hand was still on his face, cupping his stubbled cheek and tracing her thumb over his lips. Bull’s lips pursed slightly, gently kissing the pad of her thumb. Morgan’s heart flew into her throat, stomach dropping. Such a little thing, and her hand trembled. She was careful as she drew it away, not yanking the way she wanted. She went back to work, finally on the end of his second horn.

Bull’s eyes opened. There was more to the furrowing of her brows than focus now, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Her breathing had changed, too. She was probably overthinking things again. She might not think so, but she needed _this_ just as much as she needed to have her arms bound behind her back and to be fucked into the mattress.

More than anything, Bull knew that Morgan craved physical contact and reassurance. Sex was one way to get it, sure. But sometimes, she just needed to be held. She was, of course, resistant to the idea, thinking such things inseparable from romance. Sure, they often went together, but they could exist separately.

When she was finished brushing, he wordlessly took both of her hands in his, stroking his thumbs over the scarred backs of her knuckles. They didn’t shake after a battle anymore, or after she had to make a speech as the Inquisitor. He wondered if she knew how much she’d grown; how strong she’d gotten? She had to see some of it, at least. 

Morgan felt trapped, unable to pull away from the gentle hold. It was just so… comforting. She hadn’t been this close to another person in _years_, and even with the panicked thoughts it started at the back of her mind, she didn’t want to let go of it, or tell him no. Then he lifted one of her hands, kissing the back in the same way you might greet a noblewoman. But the softness of the gesture quelled Morgan’s resistance, and she cupped Bull’s cheek while he leaned into her hand.

Bull slid an arm around her, pulling her up against him again and letting his head rest on her chest for a moment, just breathing her in. Her scent was mingled with his still, faint but easy enough for his keen nose to detect. He loved when she smelled like this; like sex and heat and _him_. She liked him claiming and marking her, and he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t enjoy it too.

Just leaning into the softness of her, with her arms settling around the back of his neck, was a welcome respite. Her hand started to massage the muscle of his neck, blunt fingers digging in. “Mmm, you’re good at that,” he murmured, eyes still closed.

Morgan couldn’t help but smile, chuckling softly as he grunted as she dug her fingers in again. “You want me to finish?” she asked, tapping the brush to his horns.

“Pretty sure you already did,” he mumbled into her chest. “A few times, in fact.”

Morgan’s cheeks flushed but she laughed openly, tweaking his ear again until he leaned back with grin on his face. “Here.” He took the brush, dipping it into the pot of balm a few times before handing it back. “A little goes a long way, but try to put most of this into the skin at the base.” He returned to his earlier posture, hands on Morgan’s hips again as she went back to work.

The smell made her nose itch, and she had to turn to sneezes into her elbow three times before her body was satisfied. Bull just regarded her with that cheeky smile and waited for her to continue. Under the initial burn of the powerful scent, Morgan found it smelled very herbal, with something sweet underneath. But that was only if she focused, and didn’t breathe too deeply.

Bull didn’t bother to hide that he was watching her face. The way her nose had wrinkled and pulled her mouth into a scowl at the offending odor was just precious. She didn’t care for the word ‘adorable’, so he kept that one to himself. It still fit, though. Actually… a lot of things about Morgan were adorable.

The way she spoke as seriously to Hinter as she did to anyone else. 

The way she made a vague strangling motion with her hands behind her back when a visiting dignitary was being especially long-winded.

The way her lips pursed and pulled to the side when she was puzzled or mildly annoyed.

“I feel like it would be easier to use my hands,” Morgan muttered. “But I don’t trust any sort of qunari stuff in a jar.” She nodded pointedly to the small black lacquer box on the desk, where Bull kept his pots of vitaar.

His shoulders shook slightly with his laugh. “It won’t hurt you. But if you forget to wash your hands and rub your eye later…”

“Yeah, no thanks,” Morgan said, making a face, but breaking into a smile when Bull laughed. Just like that, her anxiety was gone. Just that one sound, and she was at ease again.

_‘Why shouldn’t I enjoy this?’_ she thought to herself. _‘Bull is always telling me to enjoy myself, since I’m always taking care of other people. I’m doing it now, even… why shouldn’t I be happy?’_

Whatever this was, whatever she and Bull shared, it was good. It made the weight of her title and duty easier to bear, and eased the burden of waking up each day to do the same thing she’d done the day before. Why shouldn’t she have something nice for herself? Orlesian nobles spent too much money on fancy cats and tiny lap dogs. Inquisitors—apparently—let themselves be tied and fucked by one-eyed qunari mercenaries.

Or… spent exorbitant amounts of time with them, lounging about and laughing at the arguments of noble and peasant alike.

Bull was happy to see her shoulders relaxed, and made a quiet noise as he flexed his hands on her hips. Morgan didn’t miss its meaning as a reward for her letting go of unnecessary thoughts. She _wanted_ to nudge him in the ribs with her knee, but settled with poking his calf with her toe. He just chuckled and stroked her sides. 

She wasn’t the only one new to this. Their… _relationship_ was a bit of a first for him, too. He’d been someone’s friend; a person they could confide in or lean on when things got tough. And he’d been a distraction, a good fuck to let off steam. He’d never really been both at once before. Sure, there were partners he’d liked spending time with, but that friendship had been more casual.

This… this was _real_. 

The Chargers would always be special and irreplaceable, but he had realized that Morgan stood on the same level. He respected and admired her. Her life and state of mind matter to him, just the same as his comrades’ in Seheron. 

And as much as the Qun might have disapproved of mixing emotions and sex, Bull was finding out that he didn’t really care all that much. He was giving Morgan what she needed, helping. And the _way_ he helped, what she needed, aligned nicely with his own preferences. 

“Fuck, I needed this,” he said after a moment. The herbal properties were starting to kick in, sinking into the sore skin at the base of each horn with a tingling sort of heat. The itch on that side was almost gone entirely. 

Morgan didn’t fight the spreading warmth in her chest this time. There was nothing romantic about wanting to make people happy. She’d helped Sera trim her hair, and Cassandra with her braid when the Seeker had broken two of her fingers in the field after they ran out of healing potions. 

“It’s nice to be taking care of _your_ needs for once,” she said, uncaring that her impudence slipped through into her tone.

Bull made a quiet noise, taking the brush and reapplying the right amount of ointment. She wasn’t entirely wrong. But he knew that it was something that _she_ needed, too, to take care of and be helpful to the people she cared about. That such a need ended up helping him was a pleasing, and not unwelcome, side benefit. 

Morgan finished the other horn in silence, handing the brush back and rolling her shoulders as she stepped off the stool. “Better?” she asked.

Bull put the lid back on the pot and lay the brush beside it on the desk. He slid an arm around her waist, drawing her in. Instead of a kiss, he pressed his brow to hers, nuzzling lightly with his nose. “Much,” he said. “Now why don’t you go lay down and I can put some salve on that red little bottom of yours, huh?” He punctuated the words with a gentle squeeze on her ass that made her squeak and swear.

“Sadist,” she accused, even as she returned to the bed, pulling her shirt up as she laid out on her stomach.

“Only if you ask nicely,” Bull said, cheerful tone contrasting with the glitter in his eye and the edge to his smirk.

Blushing anew, Morgan grumbled, folding her arms and pressing her face into the pillow.

Bull took his time appreciating the view as he retrieved the elfroot salve and sat down on the edge of the bed. As the mattress dipped and creaked, Morgan turned her head to look at him. “I don’t mind the pain, you know,” she said, watching him open the little pot and scoop out some of the salve on his fingers.

“Yeah, I know,” he said softly, giving the exaggerated one-eyed wink that never failed to make her giggle. “But we’re heading out to the Wastes day after tomorrow. That’s a lot of riding.” She hissed at the first touch, even knowing that he was being gentle. “This is as much a part of taking care of you as the infliction. And it’ll still sting, so don’t you worry about forgetting.” He started to massage the thick ointment into her skin with broad, circular strokes, leaning down to kiss the nape of her neck exposed by the loose collar of her shirt. “Just be quiet and let me take care of you.”

Morgan hid her deepening blush in the pillow. “Yes, _ser_,” she muttered, then, “ow, fuck!” 

Bull had scraped the edge of his nail over a particularly nasty welt. “Behave,” he admonished.

With a grumble, Morgan relented, let her eyes close. As the magicked ointment started soaking in, the edge faded from the pain, and she was left to enjoy the gentle ache and Bull’s equally gentle touch.


End file.
